


For the Soul

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 14 Inspired [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14x06 "Optimism", 14x06 Coda, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Jack Kline, Caring Dean Winchester, Chicken Noodle Soup, Cute Castiel, Cute Dean Winchester, Cute Jack Kline, Dean raising Sam moments, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Loving Castiel, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sex Talk, Sick Jack Kline, Supportive Dean Winchester, The Talk, Understanding Dean Winchester, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Worried Dean Winchester, ariana grande - Freeform, crackers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 10:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16637999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: With Sam and Cas away, Dean is the only one there to take care of Jack after his fit. Except when it comes to the kid, Dean never seems to do anything right. So what can he do that'll help that won't completely backfire in his face?He could follow through on his promise? It's just words... what could they do?14x06 "Optimism" Coda





	For the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So what an episode, right? I was probably a tad too optimistic about that one lol. It had some good moments but it wasn't the best, really. 
> 
> So that's what this is for! Good ol' fix-it.
> 
> Enjoy!

            “Sam? What’s your ETA… why? I’ve got a problem with Jack. No, _no_ it’s not from the hunt… I think? Well, he didn’t get _hurt_ from it but it probably made everything worse… What’s wrong? His cough? …Yeah, it’s much worse than we thought. …How bad? Blood out of his eyes, nose, and mouth – whoa, whoa! I know! He’s in bed right now but… look he’s sleeping and I’m keeping watch… Cas? I – I haven’t called him yet… I know, Sam, okay? S’just figuring out what to say… I don’t know Sam, how would you break it to him if _you_ were the one who was supposed to keep him safe? He’s his _son_ … Okay, _okay_! …Then you’re calling Rowena, just… be safe… I know you’re speeding back here, Sammy, I’m not stupid. I can only handle one problem at a time right now, don’t need to add your reckless driving to it? So… yeah… Yeah, he probably won’t blame me but… whatever, I gotta go. Bye Sam.”

            Dean hangs up, slapping his cell phone against the palm of his hand. The screen _whack whack whacks_ ; beat in time against the arrhythmic bubbling of Progresso.

            He started the soup earlier. After helping Jack into bed, the younger boy had asked for it. “I don’t think this is something even _chicken soup_ can solve,” he said.

            “Cas made it, once,” Jack mumbled, drifting in and out of consciousness, “…was nice…”

            So he waits.

            Calling Sam was supposed to give him some clarity. He was the levelheaded one. _Mr. Logic._ But all Dean did was send him into a spiral. And while Sam did point him into a direction, it was down a path Dean knew he had to walk but had every intention not to unless all other options were exhausted.

            And they were.

            He sighs. “Dammit.” Turning the stove off, Dean speed dials Cas while searching for a bowl. “Hunters…” he mumbles, waiting for the ringing to end, “Can gank a monsters six ways to Sunday but dishes? Impossible…” Dean finds one just as the line connects.

            “Hello –“

            “Aha! Cas, listen I –“

            “This is Castiel’s voicemail. Please leave your voice… a mail.” The automatic reply cuts off, its beep startling Dean into action.

            “Cas,” Dean says, phone in the crook of his neck, “Buddy, you need to call me as soon as possible. Something happened with Jack…” He holds the bowl in one hand while he pours with the other. “He’s still alive, so it’s not the _worst_ things but it’s… it’s pretty bad. That cough – _nggh!_ ” Dean hisses, a drop of soup spilling over and scalding his hand. “I’m okay, just uh… it was soup. But – seriously Cas why can’t you pick up the phone – Jack, he… he needs you. _I_ … need you. So finish whatever you’re doing and get here, _now_!” He ends the call there, rushing the pot over to the sink.

            The water isn’t cold, but it feels like it could be. He drops the temperature every few seconds, watching his thumb get blotchier, a bit of the skin rising to meet the stream. ‘ _Great, the cherry on top of this crap sundae._ ’ Dean sucks on the skin, hoping that’ll be enough for now.

            With Sam and Cas still out, Jack needs him. And he needs his soup.

            Dean brings it to him, with a few crackers, and a glass of orange juice: all resting nicely on a tray. Jack sits up to greet him. His face is less bloody, but he’s still pale and sweaty. He places the tray on Jack’s lap, and sits opposite him at the end of the bed. “Any better?”

            “Not really,” Jack sighs, fiddling with the spoon, “Still kind of woozy. Thank you for…”

            Dean waves him off. “Least I can do, literally.” Jack stares at him, or rather, his hand. He tries to hide it but Jack snatches it before he could. The kid turns it over, staring at Dean’s thumb, rubbing his own fingers across the burn.

            “Did you –“

            Dean coughs. “No big deal, really. Cellphones and soup do _not_ mix. It’ll heal…”

            “In time,” Jack says, still focused on Dean’s hand, “It’d be much faster if I still had my grace. Then again, I doubt _any_ of this would have happened if my grace wasn’t…” He audibly swallows, and lets go. Dean draws his hand back slowly, unsure of what to do next. Jack already looked like a gentle breeze could blow him over, and after staring at Dean’s dumb injury he seems even worse for wear.

            ‘ _You’re doing a good job there, Dean_ _\- a real help._ ’

            Dean needs to do something. So he falls back on a tried and true method he’s spent years perfecting: _distraction_. He gestures to the soup, “Well?”

            “What?”

            “Aren’t you going to at least try it? I slaved over that stove, even –“ he wiggles his thumb, “even injured myself making it. I wanna know what you think, see if my sacrifice was worth it.” The corners of Jack’s mouth tug up slightly, and it makes Dean’s rise to meet them. Jack stops playing with his spoon and eats. He hums around it, smiling even wider.

            “I like it.” He takes another spoonful. “Although I thought soup was supposed to be… _salty_?”

            Dean snorts. “Maybe if you use Campbell’s…” He eyes the crackers, and an idea strikes him. “Let me show you something.”

            Jack watches him, brows drawn down in confusion. “What are you doing?”

            “A little trick I learned growing up,” Dean tells him, “one day at a diner, Sam ordered soup, and it came with these little oyster crackers. Well, he fell in love with having crackers in his soup; except we couldn’t _always_ afford to eat out. One night, he was feelin’ under the weather. I tried to get him to eat the soup I made but he wasn’t having it. So I found a half-empty box of Ritz in one of our cupboards and did this.” He takes two of the crackers and crumbles them up, sprinkling it around the bowl. Dean nods at it. “Take a bite.”

            Jack scoops it all up with his spoon, a noodle dangling off it. He eats it. Dean waits, keeping track of Jack’s expressions. There are none for the longest time, but after some lengthy chewing, he beams.

            “You like?”

            “It’s chewy and… _strange_ ,” Jack says, “…I _love_ it.”

            “So did Sammy,” Dean tells him, “After that whenever I had to snag soup it always had to be with crackers. Made shoplifting a pain – those two things couldn’t be farther apart in the store. And trying to hide them under a hoodie – _not easy_.” He laughs. “Sometimes I’d just have to snag some animal crackers on my way out…”

            “You took great care of Sam…” Dean looks back at Jack. The kid has stars in his eyes, and they’re shining right on him. He flushes under the attention.

            He scratches at his neck, “Well… I had to. If not me then who? My _dad_?” Dean snorts, the idea laughable and, in truth, depressing. He glances over at Jack. ‘ _This kid is so lucky. Who did I have looking out for me growing up? Bobby, Pastor Jim… certainly not John. Jack’s got so many people who’ll do anything to keep him safe._ ’

            Jack reaches across the divide once more, laying his hand over Dean’s. “Thank you,” he says, “for the soup. And the… _everything_.”

            “You’re family kid. I look out for my own.” Dean, not known for his words, has finally said the right thing. Jack looks away, but can’t stop smiling. He returns to his meal, sipping at his juice.

            Dean uses the time to take in Jack’s room. He’s got a few books scattered about, some open on his desk next to his laptop. There’re also empty water bottles everywhere. ‘ _Got to teach him how to clean_.’ A pair of boxing gloves hangs between his jackets, scuffed and dirty. Guns and machetes and an angel blade clutter his dresser, with a few bullets tossed around. He’s taped up a poster of a singer. “Her name is Ariana Grande,” he told them, showing it off, “She’s a little misguided about God… but she’s _great_.” ‘ _Bet there are a bunch of her songs on his MP3._ ’ He could check, the device resting comfortably next to his phone. But he’s had his fill of teen pop.

            Jack starts coughing just then, startling Dean out from his musings. It shakes the tray, and if there were anything left to spill he’d be more worried. The blood is enough to deal with without having to wash out juice and soup.

            His fit ends with a whimper, and he’s somewhat curled in on himself. The sight pulls the strings right over Dean’s heart. Even more so when Jack tries to brush it off, flashing a grimace in his direction. ‘ _God he really is a Winchester…_ ’

            With the food gone, he’ll need something else to take his mind off the pain. Dean could easily drop the laptop down and leave him be, wait until Sam or Cas come home; someone who could _heal_ him. But that wouldn’t be fair to Jack. Dean’s all he has right now, and he’s never been known to give up. Not when someone depends on him.

            ‘ _Sorry ‘bout this Cas_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _I’ll make it up to you._ ’ Dean claps, drawing Jack’s attention towards him. “So,” he says, “I think now is as good a time as any!”

            “For what?” Jack asks, watching Dean push the tray over and onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

            “I’m giving you _the_ _talk_ , that’s what I’m doing.” Dean makes himself comfortable, grabbing for a nearby pillow. He fluffs it up nice before laying it on his lap. “So… you up for it?”

            Jack looks unsure, and a little shaken from his coughing. Dean smirks playfully. “What? Harper scare you off sex forever?”

            He looks nervous. Jack bites at his lip, wringing his hands together. “I… I wouldn’t say that.”

            “Well then what would you say?” Dean usually doesn’t pry – ‘ _That’s a lie_ ’ – but this is a special case. If it keeps Jack focused on this instead of the pain, then he’ll grab a shovel and dig deeper. “Come on. You can tell me, kiddo.”

            Jack sighs. “I just… after all that happened, I’m confused.” He looks up at Dean, with puppy-dog eyes that could give Sam’s a run for their money. “Are boys just as complicated?”

            ‘ _Crap, hit a water mane._ ’ “Well, um… that’s a… that a, uh – a tricky question. _People_ are complicated, no matter what they’ve got in their pants and… if you’re looking for _easy_ that’s out of the picture.” He tries laughing, but Jack doesn’t join him. Dean huffs, “Yeah, okay. So… boys? You, uh – you like them like that?”

            “Like what?”

            Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Y’know, in _that_ way. Like… you like them the same as you like girls?”

            Jack tilts his head. “I’m supposed to like them _differently_?”

            “There’s no ‘supposing’ with this kind of stuff, Jack,” Dean says, thinking carefully about what to say next. He figured giving Jack ‘the talk’ would be simple and straightforward, and now he’s giving the kid support Dean wasn’t ready for. Finding the words Jack needs to hear. That Dean _wished_ he heard all those years ago. “There aren’t any rules to this. You like who you like and… that’s _that_. You like girls and that’s okay. You like boys… well, that’s fine, too. Jack you don’t owe any explanations about that kind of stuff. We just like who we like and… if people can’t accept it than we don’t need them in our lives.”

            “We?”

            “Hmm?”

            “You said _we_ ,” Jack says, leaning close to Dean, “Do you… Dean, are you like me?”

            ‘ _This is what I get for trying to help…_ ’ “Jack, _no one_ is like you…” The kid’s smile dims, and that’s what pushes Dean to where he needs. “But… yeah.” He whips his finger back and forth between them. “ _We._ ”

            “…Thank you, Dean.”

            That brings Jack back to full force. Better than the soup, or the crackers, Dean’s assurance that he isn’t alone was the best thing he gave him. ‘ _Maybe I still got it_.’ “So,” he continues, “Girls, boys – you have any questions?”

            He startles, remembering just where their conversation started before derailing towards the closet. “Oh, um… yes! There was that thing the waitress said earlier… about _courting_. What is that?”

            “Courting – that I can do,” Dean says, “It’s like _wooing_. You bring a girl – or a _boy_ – gifts. Could be flowers, maybe some chocolate… or something personal? Like a… _mixtape_! The main thing is you gotta treat ‘em special. It’s _all_ strategy. You let the other person know they mean something to you, and start getting them thinking of _you_ in a different way from all the other chumps who they see. Or maybe in a way they never even considered! So when the time is right and you ask for the date – _whammo_! In the hole, metaphorically, I mean.”

            Jack nods. “Have you courted before?”

            “You could _call_ it courting?” Dean tells him, scratching at his neck, “I mean, not for every lay. Sometimes all it would take is a few sweet words and a little eye magic but… for the right people…” He trails off, thinking of the few who have earned this special privilege. Of the one who has it _now_. “And even after you start dating, it doesn’t have to stop. Courting can carry on _way_ past the sex. It helps keep the magic alive.”

            “Sex,” Jack says, diving forward, “What is it, and how –“

            “I won’t mince words, Jack. Sex is _great_. It’s one of the best parts of life, in my opinion. But you gotta know a few things. _Always_ ask for consent. If it’s not a resounding and emphatic _yes_ , you don’t do _shit_.” Once Jack understands this, he moves on. “Now, I can’t teach you everything. You’re gonna want to search the Internet, figure out just what you like. I’m here to tell you that whatever you _do_ end up liking, you have to communicate it. Sex without communication is fun for no one. If you listen to your partner you’ll discover what they like. It’s all about response. You can’t think too hard, with the hormones and the emotions you have to really stay in the moment to do it right.” He racks his head, trying to think of anything else that’s important. “And in the end, even though sex is great – like really really _really_ fantastic – it’s not the be all, end all. If you find you don’t like it, then that’s okay, too. If the person matters, then you don’t care about whether or not there’s sex. You just want them there with you.”

            Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. Dean doesn’t expect him to. He spoke candidly for a long time. He thought his ‘talk’ with Jack would be lighter. Dean would crack a few jokes, teach him some new things – maybe even show him a video or two that’d haunt him for awhile. His words were much heavier than they were supposed to be, and they now rest in the valley between them. ‘ _But it feels… nice._ ’ Like all that weight came from within, and now he can hold himself higher.

            “Dean?”

            “Yes, Jack?”

            “Have you found someone like that?” he asks, “A person who matters?”

            He can’t lie to the kid. Not now. “I thought I did… a few times. But… yes. I have.”

            “Is that love?”

            Dean looks down at his hands, smiling. “I think so. I _hope_ so.” He glances up at Jack through his lashes and finds the boy even more interested than before. ‘ _Christ, feels like a damned sleepover._ ’ “Look, Jack, maybe you should be resting –“

            “But I want to hear more!” He pouts, and Dean wonders how someone can look twenty and two at the same time.

            He gives in, easily. “Okay, how about this? I keep talking until you fall asleep okay? Might help you, actually.” Jack nods eagerly. “All right, can you – can you scoot over?” Dean unties his boots and shrugs off his flannel shirt. He crawls over to the other side of Jack, fixing the pillow so he can sit up comfortably. Jack shifts down, pulling the covers over his chest.

            “What do you wanna hear me talk about?”

            Jack considers the question for a beat. He smiles, and looks to Dean. “I want to hear you talk more about love. How you found it? What’s it like? All of it.”

            He rolls his eyes. “You sure? It’s a pretty long story.”

            “That’s fine,” Jack shrugs, “as long as there’s a… happy ending?”

            Dean sighs, gazing up at the ceiling. “There’s a lot of happy middles but… there’s no ending. Not yet. And if I have any say, not for a long time; that good enough for you?”

            “It’ll do.”

            “Okay then, get comfortable, because if we’re doing this then I need to go _all_ the way back. To a dark night, and a barn in Illinois…” 

* * *

 

            Castiel bursts through the Bunker door, duffel in one hand and cell phone in the other. He flies down the stairs, past the concerned looking hunters congregated in the main hall. “Dean,” he huffs, “Jack – where are they?”

            Sam walks in then, from the hallway. They lock eyes, and Castiel barrels over to him. “Sam! Dean, he said –“

            “Cas! Cas, easy there –“

            “He’s not answering and,” Castiel says, strangling his phone, “ _Jack_! Is he…”

            “They’re safe, and fine, and – and resting.” Sam lays his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, “Okay? Just breathe with me first, Cas, breathe.” The angel follows his friend’s instructions, matching his pace, and finds himself calming down. “Okay?”

            “Yes, Sam I’m… I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I came as fast as I could but there were complications so I didn’t get his message until much later and – what happened?”

            “Jack isn’t… he isn’t well.” Sam takes him through what Dean told him over the phone, making sure he doesn’t freak out again. “I only just got back an hour ago myself,” Sam says, “and nothing’s happened since then.”

            “Where are they though?” Castiel asks, “I… I need to see Jack.”

            Sam smiles. “They’re in Jack’s room. Come on.”

            The trek over is quiet, Castiel mulling over Sam’s words. When they’re almost there, he asks. “What do you mean they?”

            “Dean took good care of Jack while we were away,” Sam tells him, “He cares a lot for him. Cared a lot what _you_ thought, knowing he was responsible for him.”

            “From what you’ve told me Jack’s illness was out of Dean’s control.”

            “Like that’s stopped Dean from thinking everything was his fault,” Sam chuckles, stopping outside Jack’s door. He pushes it open and gestures inside. “Be quiet,” he whispers, “and if you want to take pictures, turn your flash off. I almost ruined it earlier.” Sam leaves him then, walking back towards the main room.

            Castiel, now curious, takes a cautious step in. When his eyes adjust to the light, he suppresses the sigh threatening to escape.

            Dean and Jack are both asleep. Dean’s head rests against the headboard – ‘ _That will hurt him later_ ’ – lolled off to the side, and on top of Jack. His arm is curled protectively around Jack’s shoulders. The younger boy is turned inwards, body fully submerged in the covers, only his neck and head sticking out. An empty tray with a bowl, glass, and half a sleeve of crackers rests on Jack’s desk. Castiel’s fingers trace the rim, remembering Dean’s message.

            Castiel floats over to the side where Dean rests. He gazes down at him, so full of light and warmth at the sight of him and his son, together. Tracing down from his face, Castiel searches for something. He finds it on Dean’s thumb. He picks his hand up, gingerly, and traces the angry, red mark caused by the burn. His eyes glow, and it returns to its unblemished state.

            Dean starts to stir. “Hnn… what?” He blinks open bleary eyes, “Cas?”

            Castiel kneels, one hand still holding Dean’s, the other moving towards Dean’s head. He starts threading fingers through _his_ hair, smiling softly. “Hello, Dean.”

            “You home?”

            “Yes, yes I am.”

            “Jack…?”

            “He seems to be doing better, thanks to you.”

            “…Did nothing…”

            “You were there when he needed you,” Castiel says, “you… did _everything_.” He leans in, dropping a soft kiss onto Dean’s cheek. Castiel hovers there, happily trapped in his orbit. “Thank you,” he whispers.

            “Cas –“

            “Shush,” he says, standing now, “Go back to sleep. I’ll still be here.” Dean doesn’t fight back as sleep digs its claws back into him. He relaxes into Castiel’s touch and drifts right into unconsciousness.

            Castiel looks over to Jack, now. He moves over to him, dropping a small kiss on his forehead. He stirs as well, but doesn’t wake.

            Satisfied, Castiel reaches for a book. He pulls Jack’s desk chair out and takes a seat, waiting patiently for when his boys wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? You like? Let me know by dropping a kudos or a comment!!


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